


hello and goodbye

by enamuko



Series: FE Rarepair Week 2k17 [8]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: M/M, minor depictions of canon-typical violence, nothing graphic or detailed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-12 01:59:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11727150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enamuko/pseuds/enamuko
Summary: When Gerome chose to separate himself from his comrades, to turn his back on their cause, Laurent took it more personally than most. Their reunion as members of the Shepherds has been... rocky, to say the least. At least until Laurent is injured on the battlefield...





	hello and goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> When I did the first FE Rarepair Week 2k17 challenge, I said I was going to go back and write a fic for each of the prompts I didn't choose. It's taken me a very long time to do that (so much so that we've been through another entire round of FE Rarepair Week since then), but I've finally gotten the first one finished. Though... part of the reason it's taken so long might be the fact that when I'm not given a strict deadline, everything ends up SO LONG.
> 
> This was written with the original FE Rarepair Week prompt set in mind, for day 6, prompt "hello". While I do use the word itself a few times in the fic (because... it's the word 'hello'), what I more had in mind while writing this was Adele's "Hello".

“Hello, Gerome.”

“…Hello, Laurent.”

The two men stare at each other for several long moments. The atmosphere is thick enough to be cut with a knife, and the room as silent as the grave.

“I’m… glad to see you’re in good physical health.”

“…the same to you.”

Gerome pauses in polishing the leather straps of Minerva’s rigging. The two have no idea what to say to each other, but neither can look away.

It’s Laurent who breaks the awkward silence first.

“Minerva seems happy to be here,” he comments. The wyvern in question raises her long, elegant neck to look him in the eye. There was a time when he would have felt totally comfortable approaching her and freely rubbing her neck and snout. Now he’s not sure he still has the privilege.

“…she is.” Gerome puts his hand on Minerva’s flank, and the wyvern settles back down, though she keeps one wary eye on him. “She likes being back with my mother. Though I believe she’s jealous of her younger self.”

“I would have expected you to release her into the wild by now. That was your intention in coming back to this time, wasn’t it?”

Gerome flinches. For a moment, Laurent regrets what he’s said—not because of Gerome’s reaction, but because he is worried by how much he enjoys it. He likes to think of himself as a rational, detached individual—but he is still human, with human feelings and human insecurities.

“…it was. But Minerva decided otherwise.” Gerome won’t look Laurent in the eye, but he makes it look casual by going back to his work on Minerva’s rigging. Another flare up of irrational emotion leaves Laurent feeling frustrated—Gerome can’t even do him the service of being properly embarrassed. He hides his emotions so casually, while Laurent feels increasingly overwhelmed and burdened by his own.

He realizes that, perhaps, all of this is a sign to quit while he’s ahead. He takes a deep breath, bordering on a sigh.

“Well, it’s good to see you here. The army can always use more trained soldiers, particularly those trained to fight from wyvern back.” He adjusts his glasses. “I suppose… I will see you around the meal hall, or the training grounds.”

Gerome makes some noise that comes from the back of his throat, but says nothing. He seems totally absorbed in the work he’s doing—though Laurent knows he’s likely more absorbed in trying to ignore him.

Maybe that’s for the best.

 

* * *

 

 Gerome avoids the meal hall and the training grounds for several days.

He still eats and trains, of course; he sneaks food from the mess hall and trains in isolated places only he and Minerva can reach. He is ashamed of his own cowardice, but—he can’t bring himself to face Laurent.

He had never expected to see Laurent again. When he’d returned to the past to bring Minerva to Wyvern Valley, his intention had been to disappear afterwards and not be heard from again. A clean exit… but his entry into Chrom’s army has changed that.

The only places he cannot avoid Laurent are during the marches and during battle. He refuses to even sleep in the barracks—but during battles he must move and fight according to Robin’s instructions, and she is clueless regarding his and Laurent’s feelings. He imagines some of the other ‘children’ suspect—based on the uneasy looks they occasionally give one of them when the two of them are near each other on the battlefield.

“Gerome.”

“Laurent.”

Gerome and Laurent both refuse to look each other in the eye as they stand prepared to march, but both pretend they’re simply surveying the field of battle.

“Are you prepared for the battle ahead?”

“Of course. Minerva and I have been training hard.” Minerva half growls, half snorts her agreement, and Gerome pats her on the neck. He expects Laurent to make a comment about that considering he’s intentionally been ‘missing’ every training session since Laurent joined the army, but Laurent simply adjusts his glasses and goes back to surveying the battlefield as a means of ignoring him.

Gerome settles himself into Minerva’s saddle. He feels her weight and power beneath him, and it helps him to focus on the battle ahead, rather than on his own personal problems. She turns her head to fix Gerome in her steady, strong gaze; even though his mask he can feel her eyes boring into him. He stares back with all the strength and conviction he can muster, knowing that with her by his side he can face any challenge.

 

* * *

 

 The first hiccup in the battle—from his perspective, at least—comes with the second wave of Risen.

Laurent considers himself more of a battle analyst than a tactician. Being a tactician requires a working knowledge of everything going on in a battle at once, and being able to adapt quickly and on the fly, which Robin’s spontaneity and ability to think on her feet gives her in spade. His talents lean more towards looking at the results and seeing what improvements can be made based on the assembled data. So, when another group of Risen suddenly appear in a flash, summoned by the Grimleal, there’s a brief moment where he freezes as his brain tries to process what his next move should be.

The Risen, however, don’t need to think. They act on the will of the summoner, or by blind instinct. The axe catches him off guard enough to leave him staggered and with a nasty wound. Later he will feel lucky that the Risen didn’t manage to cleave him in half when they caught him off guard; right now, he just feels the pain and the instinctual fear that comes with being injured on the battlefield.

He has the advantage of magic, but they have the advantage of numbers. As a mage, he’s separated from the bulk of the army; apparently, none of them have anticipated Risen being summoned so far behind most of their forces. Even as he raises his tome, he knows he can’t defeat all of them before they pounce on him like rabid animals—

A roar loud enough to shake the earth and make his ears hurt comes from above. A set of horrific looking claws descend from the sky and snatch up two of the Risen menacing him. A third is beheaded smoothly by a nasty looking axe from astride the great beast.

Laurent wastes a moment gawking, but as soon as he regains his faculties he blasts a fourth Risen with the most powerful blast of fire he can manage. The smell of burning Risen flesh is strangely comforting.

“Laurent! Are you alright?!” Gerome calls to him from Minerva’s back as her teeth and his axe each cleave through another of the Risen.

“…I’ll survive,” he replies. It’s the most honest answer he can give until he has a chance to fully assess his injuries.

Minerva lands. The Risen who have not been ordered to retreat by their invisible master are either flattened by her landing or put down by Gerome when they try to rush her.

“Climb aboard,” Gerome says gruffly as he cleaves a Risen swordsman nearly in twain. He offers a hand to Laurent to help him onto Minerva’s back.

Laurent stares at his hand for a moment, but logic wins out over emotion, and he takes it. He’s familiar enough with the mechanics of getting on Minerva’s back that Gerome hardly has to help him at all.

They take off again as soon as Laurent has settled himself. It’s testament to the blood loss making his head fuzzy that at first, he doesn’t realize they’re heading _away_ from the battle.

“Wh-where are we…?”

The wound must be worse than he’d thought, now that the adrenaline from being caught unawares is wearing off, because he sways—a dangerous thing given that he’s not strapped in to Minerva’s rigging thanks to their emergency take-off. He leans into Gerome and grips whatever straps of the rigging he can manage to find without looking.

“I’m taking you back to camp. To the medical tent,” Gerome replies as Minerva turns gently on a wing towards the army’s current base.

“That’s… not necessary. One of the field medics—” Not helping his case, he sways again and presses his forehead into Gerome’s back.

“You’ve lost a lot of blood, and you’re out of sorts. Right now, you’re more of a liability on the battlefield than a help.”

He… can’t argue with that, even if he wanted to, not when he’s expending so much energy on not falling to his death from Minerva’s back. Though he’s irked beyond reason that it’s Gerome having to tell him such a thing.

The camp, and medical tent, are within sight when he feels consciousness slipping away… but all he can see is Gerome’s back as he slumps further against him.

 

* * *

 

_“Hello, Gerome.”_

_“…hello, Laurent.”_

_There’s an uneasy silence as Laurent watches Gerome load up Minerva for the trip ahead. Or—behind. The nature of time travel… even he can’t understand it, though he’s tried. It breeds both fear and determination in their forces as they come to terms with what lies ahead—behind—them, and what they mean to accomplish. It’s almost beautiful, the way it unifies them…_

_…all but one of them._

_“…so. You’re still planning on going to Wyvern Valley once we… arrive?”_

_“Of course. Minerva deserves to be among her own kind.”_

_“And… afterwards?”_

_Gerome is silent for a few long moments. Laurent already knows his answer, but he has to hear it from him—has to confirm what he’s been told by others. He owes Gerome that much…_

_“I’m not certain myself,” he finally replies. “Without Minerva, I suppose I’ll just… disappear. Wyvern Valley is isolated. It would be easy enough to do.”_

_“…I see. So, you truly do not intend to join our efforts.”_

_“I never had any intentions of joining,” Gerome replies without hesitation. “This struggle against destiny… is futile. I have no desire to live through all of this a second time because of some slim hope we might be able to alter the course of events.”_

_Laurent is… shocked, almost, at Gerome’s frankness. At how readily he tears down everything they’ve been working for, and their one source of hope in such a dark time. Laurent is a rational man himself, something he inherited from his late mother—he prefers to put his trust in things he can understand mechanically. He understands that there is no guarantee in the success of their journey; even getting to the proper time and place is a long shot. But he also understands the positive effects hope and faith can have on those in dire circumstances…_

_…and he is still human. Rational or not, he wants to cling to that shred of hope they’ve found, and the sense of purpose that has sprung up among them. Gerome, in contrast, seems intent on tossing it to the wind. As if that hope… doesn’t matter._

_Laurent also prides himself in keeping a cool, logical head, but what bubbles up inside him is anything but cool-headed and logical._

_“How can you be so… so selfish? So cruel?” He glares at Gerome as the words spill out uncontrollably. “If there’s even the slightest chance that our actions could influence the future for the better, how could you refuse to participate? Especially when you’ll already be coming back with us? We could save thousands of lives if we succeed—including the lives of our parents. How could you turn your back on that?”_

_He feels strangely empty once his emotional tirade is finished, as though it’s drained something vital out of him. Perhaps he had been holding those words back since hearing of Gerome’s plans, waiting for the moment to let them burst forth…_

_Gerome is silent. He’s even stopped his preparations, which he had managed to continue throughout all of Laurent’s speech. He turns to him, and Laurent curses that mask of his, hiding all of Gerome’s thoughts and feelings—_

_“I just think all of you are naïve,” Gerome says firmly. “What use are the handful of us against the very tides of destiny? I won’t be a fool and live through that heartbreak again, Laurent. Rushing headlong from one war to another is the mark of a fool.”_

_Laurent flinches. It’s not Gerome’s words that strike him—such arguments hold no weight with him, and he knows they’re born of bitterness the same way his own are born of hope—but rather the ice in Gerome’s voice. He’s never heard such a tone from him… and he likes to think he knows Gerome better than anyone in their group._

_Or_ knew _him better, at any rate._

_“We know what those first few years were like. You’ll probably all end up dead before anyone has a chance to make a difference.”_

_“How could you say such a thing, considering what Lucina has sacrificed for this?! What all of us have sacrificed?” Laurent clenches his fists. “It wound be another matter entirely if you refused to undertake the journey with us, but to come along and use Naga’s gifts to your own end—”_

_“Enough, Laurent.”_

_Gerome stands up quite suddenly. It almost shocks Laurent, caught up as he was in his tirade._

_“You’re getting overexcited. This isn’t like you. You’re usually so calm and collected.” Gerome sounds almost… shocked._

_“I’m entitled to my anger, Gerome. Especially after we… after you…” He pauses to collect himself. Gerome is right; he is getting overexcited. His heart is pounding so hard he can hear its echo in his ears. “…I simply expected better from you, I suppose. I… thought I knew you better.”_

_“…we all make mistakes.”_

_“…I suppose we do.”_

 

* * *

 

When Laurent wakes up, he’s lying on a cot in the medical tent. For a moment, he can’t remember what’s happened, but the dull pain in his shoulder brings him back to reality quickly enough. He supposes he should count his blessings that it doesn’t hurt worse…

He knows better than to try sitting up with the wound as precariously placed as it is, but he does try to roll over just slightly so he can see the rest of the tent. It hurts, but nothing so bad to indicate a worsening or reopening of his wounds—

Whatever they gave him to dull the pain makes the world spin. He lets his head rest against the pillow and closes his eyes to avoid giving over to nausea; he would much rather _not_ throw up all over himself.

When he opens his eyes again, he realizes he must have drifted off, because now Gerome is sitting at his bedside. He’s removed one of his gloves and has his hand laid across Laurent’s forehead. It feels pleasantly cool—which tells him he’s developed a fever.

“Are you awake?” As soon as Gerome takes notice of that, he removes his hand and slips his glove back on.

Laurent doesn’t answer him. Instead he replies with a question of his own.

“What is my condition?”

“You lost a fair bit of blood, though the wound wasn’t deep. It must have nicked an artery,” Gerome explains, short and to the point. “You’ve also had a bad reaction. Too fast to be an infection, so the healers are saying it’s some kind of poison or toxin from the Risen’s weapon. Nothing life threatening with the right treatment.”

“And the battle…?”

“Won. With no casualties, though you’re not the only person with a severe injury.” Gerome leans back in his seat. “A number of the enemy soldiers got away, including the summoner. But the area is safe for the moment.”

“I imagine we will be moving out as soon as the wounded are healed enough to do so safely,” Laurent says, moving to roll back into his back; his uninjured shoulder is stiff where he’s fallen asleep on it, and there’s nothing to look at in the tent aside from Gerome.

“That’s the plan, as far as I know.”

Laurent lets his eyes slide shut again. He wants to ask more questions, but he knows he will likely only forget the answers in his injured haze. But one thought will not leave him alone…

“…thank you for saving my life,” he says, though his eyes remain shut. He doesn’t want to look at Gerome, particularly not after the dream he had…

“There’s no need to thank me. We’re comrades in arms. It’s not as though I could have left you to die.” Gerome’s simple, no-nonsense response is almost comforting. He’d almost been expecting an ‘I told you so’, though he doubts Gerome even remembers what he’d said to Laurent back then. It’s been five years for him—he’s not sure how long it’s been for Gerome, though it hasn’t been long enough for him to have visibly aged.

“I still believe thanking you is the proper response. Even if you were only doing it out of a sense of duty.”

He still feels Gerome’s eyes on him, even as he settles back in hopes of sleeping a while longer. Rest is the key to recovering from any wound or illness—sitting back and letting the body do what’s necessary to take care of itself. But he has a hard time focusing on that thought when he can’t help but wonder if Gerome is just going to keep sitting there watching him.

He turns his head—it doesn’t hurt as much as turning his entire body, but it’s still not what he’d call pleasant. Sure enough, Gerome is still sitting there, like a statue. It’s impossible to tell if he’s actually watching him while he’s wearing his mask, but since there’s nothing else to look at, Laurent can’t make an educated guess.

“…do you intend to sit there until I heal?” He doesn’t mean to sound snide, but then… he’s not exactly comfortable with this situation.

“Only until the healer returns. They’re worried your fever might get worse, and asked me to stay with you while they tended to the others.”

“Did you not say that the toxin is nothing serious?”

Gerome freezes. He wasn’t precisely fidgeting before, but now he’s gone completely still.

“Gerome… tell me the truth. At this point, I think you owe me that much.”

He expects Gerome to tell him that the toxin is worse than he’d admitted, that he didn’t want to worry him and potentially worsen his condition. He doesn’t expect Gerome to reach up and remove his mask.

It’s… intimate. Laurent knows that. It’s not the first time he’s seen him without his mask. He had just… come to terms with the idea that he would likely never see it again. He’d nearly forgotten the warm color of his eyes… (even if he knows it’s probably just the fever talking)

“I suppose I do owe you that, don’t I.” He sighs and pushes his hair back, though it’s naturally swept back and out of his face. “To tell you the truth… I was worried for you. Personally, not because of your worth to the army. Though I do admit we’d be much worse off without you…”

He pauses. Laurent feels heavy, like he’s about to fall asleep at any moment, but he wants to hear what Gerome has to say. Even when they were… closer… he rarely had the privilege of hearing Gerome speak openly and from the heart. It’s simply not Gerome’s way.

“When I saw you in danger, I reacted… emotionally. As did Minerva. We went against orders and flew out of formation to come to your aid.” Gerome settles back in his chair. He looks almost as tired as Laurent feels. He supposes all of them are starting to feel the weight of the war… “The healers have actually been trying to keep me out. They keep saying I’ll be in the way. I imagine they only relented once they were certain you were stable because they have other patients to tend to.”

“Gerome… you needn’t tell me all this. I know being this open makes you uncomfortable…” And even he’s starting to feel a little uncomfortable with how frank Gerome is being. Not to mention some of the implications.

“It needs to be said sooner or later. Better it be now when I’m feeling bold,” Gerome replies. “Laurent… you and I lost plenty of friends and comrades in our own time. All of us did, but I saw up close how it affected you… and you saw the same for me. You’re the only person who has, really…”

“Aside from Minerva,” Laurent says. It actually coaxes a smile from Gerome—a small one, but it seems to lighten the mood, which he’s grateful for. The dour atmosphere and serious tone of Gerome’s voice makes him feel like he’s on his death bed.

“Yes, well. I’d say that’s a given,” Gerome replies, and his expression is back to serious again. “She’s seen a lot of death as well. And she was just as distraught to see you in danger as I was. Even if I hadn’t intended to lend you my aid, I don’t think Minerva would have given me much of a choice. She’s… always been fond of you.”

“Once I was certain she meant me no harm, I grew quite fond of her, as well.” Laurent smiles; he can’t help himself.

“There was a time you were worried she would eat you, if I recall.”

“I was a child then. She was much more intimidating when I was small enough for her to consume in two bites.”

“Really? I always thought her size was one of the cutest things about her. But we’ve gotten off the subject. Laurent… we were all incredibly lucky to have survived in our time. And I knew that luck would run out sooner or later. I had no desire to run from one battlefield to another for a plan we weren’t even sure was possible. But more than that… I couldn’t imagine watching you get hurt, or worse. Every battle we faced frayed my nerves more and more. When Naga’s gift presented another option… I was quick to take it. Too quick.”

Laurent is silent. He has many things he would like to say about the choice Gerome made, but he’s said them all before, and it… wouldn’t be fair, when Gerome is baring his heart to him.

“I thought I was being the rational one. That the lot of you were so caught up in hope and prayer that you couldn’t see you were walking into a death trap. And I hoped you would be smart enough to join me, when the time came… I was a fool.” There’s pain and embarrassment in Gerome’s eyes. “Not only a fool, but one who couldn’t even stick to his own convictions. As soon as Cherche and the rest of Chrom’s army turned up at Wyvern Valley, I joined them with hardly a second thought. Making all of that drama ultimately for nothing…”

“Gerome…”

“I’m almost finished, I promise.” He sighs, and takes a moment to gather his words. “I didn’t want to see anyone else get hurt… didn’t want to lose anyone else. So I cowardly decided it was better to hide away from that pain. I truly did want to release Minerva to be with her own kind, but… I also wanted to hide away from _my_ own. But had I not been there today…”

“I would likely be dead,” Laurent finishes, since Gerome doesn’t seem to be in the kind of place to admit it. “Even if I had managed to defeat that entire horde of Risen, I would have bled out or succumbed to the toxins before I was located and brought to the medical tent. There’s no need to be humble about the fact that you saved my life.”

“Regardless. Though I realized a while ago how foolish I was to turn my back on our cause, it wasn’t until I saw you cornered by those Risen that I realized… if I don’t want to see you get hurt, the answer isn’t to keep away from you, it’s to protect you.” Gerome flushes. It takes him a moment to realize what he’s said. “And! Our other companions, of course!”

“Gerome… you’re right. You were a fool for turning your back on us. I’ve never been afraid to tell you so… though I think I’ve been terribly unfair, never considering your point of view in all this.” Laurent sighs. “I took you leaving us quite… personally. I… I loved you, Gerome. And I thought you loved me. I felt as though you were abandoning me in a very personal way, and I couldn’t help but lash out.”

“I did love you! I meant every word I ever said to you!” He must have touched a nerve, something Gerome has thought about before, because he reacts very viscerally—he wouldn’t be surprised to see him jump out of his chair. “That’s why I was so afraid to lose you… with my parents gone, you were the only family I had left. Standing to lose both of my parents again _and_ you in a war I was sure we wouldn’t win… it was just too much. Not that it excuses my choice…”

“You joined us, in the end. That’s what matters. I don’t imagine anyone here is still angry with you for it.”

“Except for you.”

Laurent opens his mouth to say something, but he can’t find the words. It’s not as though he can deny that. He’s been nothing _but_ angry with Gerome since joining the Shepherds and seeing him there. Though he still feels his anger has been justified, now it sits cold in the pit of his stomach.

“As I said, your decision affected me in a very personal way, Gerome. I felt the same way about you. Though I consider all of our comrades family of a sort, you and Minerva provided a stable island in a sea of turmoil. It… felt like you had abandoned me. And I was left for five years with those thoughts, with no way to work through or express those feelings. So when I saw you again after so long, I reminded me of all I had lost.”

His feelings once again come tumbling out and threaten to consume him. He wants to believe it’s just because of the fever, but these feelings have no doubt been a long time coming.

Gerome says nothing, and embarrassment washes over him for getting so caught up in the moment. He wants to tell Gerome to leave and let him rest—he’s sure this stress is doing nothing good for his injuries. But before he can, Gerome reaches out and touches his face.

The knuckles of his gauntlet feel cool against his fevered skin, and without thinking he turns his head into the touch. Gerome… _caresses_ him in a painfully familiar way, and he’s even more embarrassed that it feels like home.

“I… this probably is the last thing you want to hear from me, but… I still care for you very deeply. I… still love you. I don’t know that I could ever stop.”

Laurent freezes. His mind freezes as well, and he hates the feeling more than anything.

“I know you likely hate me now, and you have every right—”

“Gerome, stop.”

Gerome… well, stops, and stares at Laurent like he’s suddenly grown an extra head. In that moment Laurent is actually glad for his fever—he’s sure he’s been flushed this whole time, so the fact that he _knows_ he’s blushing furiously won’t be visible.

“It… may take me quite some time to completely forgive you. But as _angry_ and as _hurt_ as I’ve been, I could certainly never hate you… particularly after what you’ve told me today.” He sighs and leans again into Gerome’s cool touch. “…I love you too, Gerome. Even when you’ve been a complete dastard…”

“L-Laurent…” Gerome flushes, and there’s something very much like relief in his eyes. “…I’ll make it up to you. I won’t leave your side again. If you’ll have me, that is.”

“You know I will… Romey.”

“Aaauugh. I had hoped _that_ nickname would be gone for good…” Gerome winces, and Laurent chuckles. “Though two can play that game… Laurie.”

“…I missed you, Gerome.” Laurent takes Gerome’s hand in his own, and it feels _right_.

“And I’ve missed you, Laurent. Get some rest. I’ll still be here when you wake up… I swear it.”

Though he knows this is not enough to erase the pain that’s passed between them, Laurent believes him—and is content to drift comfortably off to sleep.


End file.
